


Rosie's Observations

by OneBlueUmbrella (bigblueboxat221b)



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Choose Your Own Adventure, Either Johnlock or Mystrade depending on which way you pick, M/M, Observant Rosie, Secret Crush, no crossover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:40:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27570904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bigblueboxat221b/pseuds/OneBlueUmbrella
Summary: Rosie knows all about secret grown up love. When she looks around to announce who she's been observing all evening, John, Sherlock, Greg and Mycroft all freeze. Whose secret is she about to reveal - and what will that mean?
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 25
Kudos: 199





	1. All about Grown Up Love

**Author's Note:**

> This is a chose your own adventure story (albeit with just the one choice).  
> Chapter 1 is the set up.  
> Chapters 2-5 are different AUs in which Rosie announces she's been watching one of the four men present.  
> It's strictly G-rated fluff, as befits a story in which the main character is four years old. I hope you enjoy it.

“I know all about love!” The little voice was loud, cutting across the quiet conversation.

“Do you now, Miss Rosie?” Greg asked the four year old. He could see John and Sherlock smiling indulgently; Mycroft’s expression was more difficult to read.

“Yes, I know all about it. Daddy told me all about it.”

“Did he?” Greg asked him, casting an amused glance at John. “And what did he say?”

“Daddy said people can love each other in all different ways. Mummy loves me from heaven, and Nanna loves me from downstairs and Daddy loves me from right here.”

“Well, that’s a lot of people to love you,” Greg said seriously. “You’re very lucky.”

“Yes, I know,” she told him, eyes wide. “And did you know, there’s a special kind of grown up love?”

“Is there?” Greg asked.

“Yes,” Rosie told him, her small face turning serious. “I know all about that too.”

“Really,” Greg said, flicking a glance at the other men, now watching and listening intently.

“Yes. Grown up love,” Rosie announced dramatically, “is secret.”

“Is it?” Greg asked, his voice a little strangled.

“Yes,” she said, eye wide. “I know all about secret grown up love,” she assured Greg.

“Wow,” Greg said, trying not to encourage her. Unsurprisingly, she wasn’t great at unspoken social cues.

“Yes, Papa has taught me to observe. Would you like to know what I have observed tonight?”

“Um, I’m not sure if that’s a good idea, Rosie,” Greg said nervously. “Secrets aren’t always meant to be shared, even if you can see them.”

“Observe, not see,” she told him. “I observed...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Choose your own adventure, folks!  
> If you want Rosie to announce what she observed about John, [read chapter 2](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27570904/chapters/67440928#workskin).   
> If you want Rosie to announce what she observed about Sherlock, [read chapter 3](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27570904/chapters/67440949#workskin).  
> If you want Rosie to announce what she observed about Mycroft, [read chapter 4](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27570904/chapters/67440991#workskin).  
> If you want Rosie to announce what she observed about Greg, [read chapter 5](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27570904/chapters/67441012).


	2. John

“Um, I’m not sure if that’s a good idea, Rosie,” Greg said nervously. “Secrets aren’t always meant to be shared, even if you can see them.”

“Observe, not see,” she told him. “I observed Daddy tonight.”

“John?” Greg asked. “You listening?”

“Yes,” John said. He sounded resigned. “This is all Sherlock, as you can imagine.”

“Daddy, you told me about grown up love. You told me how people act when they love each other.”

“Did I?” John said with a tight smile. “What did I say, sweetheart?”

“You said people who love each other want to be close to each other. They like to touch each other sometimes, and they like to make each other happy.”

“That’s true,” John said cautiously.

He glanced at Sherlock, who was pretending not to hear. Even from across the room, Greg could see how red his ears had grown. He doubted anyone in the room believed he wasn’t holding his breath, waiting to hear what would come next.

“You sit next to Papa. And you touch him all the time, even when it’s not necessary.”

“Who taught you to say ‘necessary?’” John grumbled, flushing.

“Papa, of course,” Rosie answered serenely. “And you make Papa happy. You opened the red wine for him, even though you had beer. You gave him the big plate so his food doesn’t touch. And you ordered the garlic nana even though you don’t like it.”

John was speechless, watching his daughter reel off her observations. Finally he offered weakly, “It’s naan, sweetheart.”

“Irrelevant,” she shot back.

“That was definitely Papa,” John said, “and that was rude, Rosie.”

“Sorry Daddy,” she said, sounding anything but contrite.

“So?” she asked him, managing to sound exasperated. “Do you love Papa?”

“Do you remember when we talked about secrets, Rosie?” John tried again.

“I remember when you told me it was a secret that you love Papa,” she told him. The room was silent, all eyes on John, until Rosie asked, “Daddy?”

“Um, why don’t we let Daddy and Papa have a talk about this?” Greg said, looking pointedly at Mycroft as he took Rosie by the hand.

Mycroft followed, the two men barely speaking as Rosie chattered on, showing them her new crayons and the drawings plastering the wall around her bed. Twenty minutes later Greg raised his eyebrows at Mycroft and they nodded, leaving Rosie absorbed in her new picture as they headed downstairs to assess the situation.

“I doubt they even noticed us,” Greg said ten seconds later, having backed immediately out of the sitting room.

“Unlikely,” Mycroft murmured, his cheeks pinker than usual.

Greg shook his head, half a smile crossing his face. “Not the expression I’d expect from some seeing his brother in such a compromising position,” Greg muttered with a grin.

“He looked happy,” Mycroft murmured.

Greg had to agree. He was just wondering what they should do about Rosie – in any other situation he’d just bail and call John tomorrow – when the man himself opened the door, face flushed and still tucking his shirt in at the back.

“You did notice us,” Greg said with a grin. “Couldn’t quite tell…”

“Yep,” John said, his pink cheeks darkening further. “Rosie upstairs?”

“She is,” Greg said. “We’ll be off then.”

“Right,” John said, his expression a little apprehensive.

Greg shook his hand, one hand clapping to his bicep before he let go. “Looks like things are going well. I’m happy for you both.”

“Thanks,” John said, relaxing.

“Congratulations,” Mycroft said quietly.

John nodded. “We’ll see you soon,” he said, and Greg and Mycroft headed down the stairs.


	3. Sherlock

“Um, I’m not sure if that’s a good idea, Rosie,” Greg said nervously. “Secrets aren’t always meant to be shared, even if you can see them.”

“Observe, not see,” she told him. “I observed Papa tonight.”

“You did?” Greg said, flicking a glance at Sherlock.

“Rosie,” he said warningly, then to general astonishment, added something in a language Greg did not understand. From the expression on John’s face he didn’t either, and Mycroft was frowning as though something wasn’t quite right. Rosie, however, replied in the same language, her small brow furrowed as she listened to Sherlock explain something.

They exchanged several comments before Rosie blurted in English, “Well if you wanted it to be a secret you should have hidden it better!” She flounced out of the room, tears welling in her eyes.

John jumped up, managing to look bewildered but angry at Sherlock at the same time, following Rosie out the room and up the stairs.

Mycroft spoke, his voice quiet but reproving as he framed unfamiliar words in his brother’s direction. Greg didn’t need to understand the words to see what was happening. Sherlock looked somehow small and resigned to something, and Mycroft’s expression was surprised even as he listened to his brother’s words. Greg could hear his tentative questions turn into something clearly trying to convince Sherlock of something, and when their words stopped he could see Sherlock trying to make a decision.

“Come, Detective Inspector,” Mycroft said, when John appeared at the door, a contrite looking Rosie on his hip. “I believe this is a family matter.”

Greg followed him out without really knowing what was going on. “Are they going to be okay?” he asked when they stepped out onto the street.

“Provided my brother has the courage to tell John what Rosie has already guessed,” Mycroft said, “then they will be more than okay.”

Greg blinked. “He’s in love with John, isn’t he?”

Mycroft nodded, expression unmoving.

“Thank Christ,” Greg breathed. “John’s been sitting on that for ages. If Rosie had been observing him, it would have been the same. Assuming they were talking about that?”

Mycroft hummed. “I have no idea why he taught her Persian,” he mused. “Either way, I bid you good night.”

Greg nodded, smiling.


	4. Mycroft

“Um, I’m not sure if that’s a good idea, Rosie,” Greg said nervously. “Secrets aren’t always meant to be shared, even if you can see them.”

“Observe, not see,” she told him. “I observed Uncle Mycroft, and it was boring.”

“Boring?” Mycroft protested mildly.

“Yes,” she said. “You’re too good at hiding things.”

Greg and John both stifled a snort of laughter at that.

“Ah, you aren’t looking closely enough,” Sherlock’s voice came through the laughter. “Do you not see,” he flicked his eyes to Greg, before finishing his thought in French.

Annoyed, Greg raised one eyebrow. He and John shrugged as Mycroft began to protest, the three way conversation continuing in French as smoothly as it would have in English. Neither was paying enough attention to notice how tense Greg was becoming; there was no way he would have been able to hide his reaction.

“ _Cą suffit_!” Mycroft said, standing and striding over to collect his umbrella. “ _Ca n’a rien à voir avec vous!_ ”

“ _Mais, c’est bien à voir avec moi_ ,” Greg said, standing to face Mycroft. “It is _my_ business,” he repeated in English.

The room was still, even Rosie understanding the implication of Greg’s declaration.

In French.

After their conversation.

Also in French.

Mycroft faced him, coat barely shrugged over his shoulders as he met Greg’s eyes. Deer in the headlights had never seemed more apt a description.

“I’d have to say, it would be nice to be included in a conversation about me and what I apparently want,” Greg said quietly. When neither Mycroft nor Sherlock replied, Greg glanced at John, who clearly had no idea what was going on. Rosie was snuggled in his lap, one thumb in her mouth as she watched the men talk.

“Apparently, Sherlock’s noticed Mycroft has a thing for me, and he’s also noticed I have a thing for Mycroft, but Mycroft doesn’t believe him, even with Rosie’s observations added in, and Mycroft would rather leave without asking than risk me turning him down.”

John, mouth hanging open, nodded, eyes darting all over the room.

Greg turned his eyes back to Mycroft. “Would it help if I told you Sherlock’s right, and so is Rosie?”

Mycroft nodded, swallowing.

“Then maybe you’d like to come and have a drink with me,” Greg said, heart pounding. “Right now. On a date.”

“Yes,” Mycroft whispered.

“ _Bon_ ,” Greg replied.


	5. Greg

“Um, I’m not sure if that’s a good idea, Rosie,” Greg said nervously. “Secrets aren’t always meant to be shared, even if you can see them.”

“Observe, not see,” she told him. “I observed you, Uncle Greg!”

“Uncle Greg?” he asked, eyebrows raised.

“Yes,” she said with all the conviction a pre-schooler could muster, which was considerable. “You do all the uncle-y things, so you’re my uncle.”

“Fair enough,” Greg replied, flushing with pleasure at the inclusion. “Thank you, Rosie.”

“You’re welcome,” she said politely before continuing, “Do you want to know what I observed about you, Uncle Greg?”

“Well,” Greg said, not wanting to hurt her feelings, “did you notice how grey my hair is?”

“No!” Rosie said, “that’s not real observation! Papa told me you need to observe the things people do when they think nobody’s watching.”

“Really,” Greg replied, raising an eyebrow at Sherlock. “Well, that’s true enough.”

“And I know people mainly watch the people they love the most,” Rosie said.

Greg’s heart froze. “They do?” he whispered. Shit, he wasn’t ready for this. There was no way out of it, so he swallowed, pinned his eyes on Rosie and asked, “And who did I watch the most?”

She gave him a huge smile, cupped his cheeks and brought his face so close their noses touched. “It was me!” she stage whispered before wrapping her arms around his shoulders.

Greg felt himself relax as he returned her embrace. She was four, why had he been worried?

“Okay, Rosie, time for bed,” John told her.

“Can Uncle Greg take me up to bed?” she asked.

“Once you’ve brushed your teeth,” John told her.

She skipped off to the bathroom and Greg stood up.

“I’ll tuck her in, then I’ll head off,” he said. A quick farewell, and Rosie reappeared, kissing the others before wrapping her arms around Mycroft’s neck. They had a quick whispered exchange before she slipped her hand into Greg’s and started tugging him up the stairs. He didn’t have time to wonder why Mycroft had looked slightly puzzled.

“This book is my favourite,” Rosie said, settling in bed and handing Greg a picture book.

“Of course,” Greg said, sitting on the edge of the bed.

He read the story, watching Rosie’s eyelids grow heavy as he reached the end.

“Do you know why that is my favourite?” she asked him, voice drowsy.

“Because it’s about telling the truth?” Greg said.

“No,” she said, “because it reminds me that sometimes it’s okay to tell a lie.”

“Is it?” Greg asked. This was murky waters for a newly minted uncle, and he wasn’t entirely sure what he should say.

“I lied tonight,” Rosie told him. Her eyes were the exact colour of John’s, Greg noticed, and surprisingly sharp for someone who sounded so sleepy a moment ago. “You didn’t watch me tonight. You watched Uncle Mycroft.”

There was a challenge in her voice, and Greg wondered where a four year old would learn such a tone. As if he needed to think about it.

“I did,” Greg said, carefully resisting the urge to add more detail.

“So you love him more than me,” Rosie said, the connection simple in her mind.

“I would say I love him differently,” Greg said. Christ, it was weird to say it out loud. “But I love you too, Rosie-roo.”

She grinned at the nickname.

“Uncle Greg?” she said, yawning and snuggling down into her blankets.

“Yeah?” Greg asked, turning for the door.

“Will you buy me a kangaroo?”

Greg was still smiling as he pulled the bedroom door fully open.

Mycroft was standing on the other side, his eyes wide as they met Greg’s, guilt and hope flaring in equal parts.

There was no way he hadn’t heard.

Greg froze, though his tense muscles relaxed after a moment. He could see Mycroft’s indecision. He wasn’t preparing to run, or even speak; instead he was watching Greg, waiting for his reaction. When Greg did nothing, Mycroft shifted slightly, moving hesitantly closer until they were almost toe to toe.

“She told me to come up and listen to the end of the story,” Mycroft said, his words the barest whisper.

“I wonder where she learned that kind of cunning?” Greg asked quietly.

Mycroft nodded. “How differently?” he asked.

It took a second for his meaning to register, and Greg wondered if cutting out the intermediate words made it easier to ask the question.

“As enduring as the tides,” Greg said in a moment of reckless poetry, “as endless as the sea itself.”

Mycroft’s eyes widened.

“You?” Greg asked, the single word almost impossible to shape.

“Same,” Mycroft whispered.

They both swayed forward, lips brushing as Rosie sighed, the bed creaking as she rolled over in her sleep.


End file.
